To Have And To Hold: The Wedding Belles Book 1 (31 page)

She tapped her nose to indicate he’d gotten it right. “Anyway, this guy comes up on my right side, and it sounds lame, but I felt him before I saw him, you know? Like I was
aware
of him.”

Seth nodded in understanding even as he silently hated another man for capturing her attention in that way.

“He, however, wasn’t aware of me. He didn’t even
glance at me as he waited patiently to catch the bartender’s attention, and then his drink order . . . same as mine.”

Brooke’s eyes closed as she broke off and she shook her head. “Anyway, I wasn’t drunk enough to be out swaying with my girlfriends, but I was just buzzy enough to be brave, and so when the bartender set down the guy’s martini, I sort of clinked my glass against his and said something like, ‘Cheers to dirty Belvederes,’ or something completely horrible and awkward like that.”

“I take it he noticed you
then
?”

She gave a sad smile. “Yeah. He looked over, gave me this small smile, and I was just, like, done, you know?
Boom
. It was all over for me. He had these warm brown eyes, dark blond hair, tan skin . . . totally like cliché California surfer dude, but in the hottest way possible. And well, I’ve always had a type, and Clay was it.

“We started dating,” she continued. “I’d always been sort of romantically inclined. Convinced that when I met
the
guy, the one I was supposed to be with forever, I’d know, and that that would be it. We’d get married and live happily ever after. And by the third date with Clay, I knew. Or at least I thought I did.”

“So was it a fast engagement?”

“No, actually,” she said. “I’m a little embarrassed to say that had he proposed earlier I would have leapt in with two feet, but we dated for a couple years. Moved in together. He got to know my family. My parents thought of him like a son.” She rubbed her forehead as though this last part hurt the worst.
“Then it was ring shopping, the sunset proposal, the whole bit.”

Seth said nothing. He waited, his body tensed, knowing the story didn’t have a happy ending.

“I planned the
crap
out of my wedding,” Brooke said. “I mean, not all that surprising, right, given my career, but I’d like to think that I also did it for all the right reasons. Because I wanted it to be the most special day of my life, not because I wanted it to be the most spectacular wedding of all time. I kept it traditional. I didn’t go bridezilla. Clay and I made the decisions together, we talked about everything from the flowers to the first-dance song.”

Brooke let out a choked laugh. “Here I thought we had the best communication ever, because we could talk about colors and tackle the most stressful parts of wedding planning without so much as the slightest argument. But he was playing me. He was playing me so hard.”

Her sad eyes looked over at him, and his heart twisted at the turmoil swirling in the blue depths. Seth’s fingers clenched into a fist, and his breathing grew ragged with anger. Brooke kept going. “The FBI took him away in handcuffs at the altar. Because
that’s
how I thought my wedding would go. I always thought Ponzi schemes and money laundering and identity fraud were phrases dreamed up by Hollywood screenwriters. But I heard all of those and about a dozen more that day. My
wedding
day.”

“Ah, Brooke,” he breathed out, feeling completely at a loss about what to do or what to say. He’d read
the story online, of course, but hearing it all from Brooke’s perspective, the woman whose life this asshole had shattered, made it so much more heart-wrenching and real.

“I thought he’d get put away and be in jail for a long, long time, you know? And I thought that as long as he was in jail, I wouldn’t have to think about it. Or him. I wouldn’t have to deal with it, you know?”

Seth nodded, although in truth, he wasn’t sure he entirely did know. Avoidance wasn’t really in his makeup. He was more of a take-control-of-every-detail-and-then-tighten-the-reins type.

Not that it had served him particularly well over the years.

But Brooke’s method hadn’t served
her
well, either. He was no shrink, but he was pretty sure he was witnessing the culmination of months’ worth of trying to pretend like a seriously shitty event hadn’t gone down.

And yet, Seth was impressed, too.

Impressed that this woman who had had her heart and dream publicly smashed to smithereens had still managed to keep her overall bright and sunny outlook on life. Brooke still managed to put her heart and soul into planning weddings because she refused to give up on the happily ever after.

“Well, he’s not going to jail. He pled out, and now I’m . . . I’m worried he’ll contact me,” Brooke whispered.

Seth stiffened. He hadn’t considered that. Hell, he hadn’t let himself consider that. But it made sense. A
man didn’t lose a woman like Brooke Baldwin and not try to get her back. Even if he was a white-collar criminal.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked, trying to keep the tension out of his voice.

She sighed. “I . . . I don’t know. That’s terrible, huh?”

“Maybe not,” he said, reaching for her hand and rubbing a thumb over the soft skin of her inner wrist. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she mumbled, looking down at her hands. “For not seeing it. For not knowing who and what he was.”

“Hey now,” Seth said quietly, turning her face toward him and meeting her still-puffy eyes. “Don’t do that. Clay Battaglia was damn good at what he did. He fooled plenty of people, many of whom I consider friends.”

Seth knew people to whom Clay had been a colleague, a comrade, even a mentor. People had trusted him, and the sting of betrayal had caused a ripple.

But it was more than a ripple to Brooke.

It was a damned earthquake.

Seth disdained the man for giving business a bad name, but he
hated
him for what he’d done to the woman in front of him.

And even as he leaned forward to capture her lips in a comforting kiss, Seth couldn’t stop his brain from churning with ways to ensure Clay could never hurt her again.

Brooke kissed him back, and the slight edge of
desperation in the way she clung to him broke his heart, even as he was relieved that he was the one that she’d come to.

They pulled back minutes later, slightly breathless.

Brooke very gently set her fingers against his cheek. “Thank you. For being here when I broke.”

“You didn’t break,” Seth said. “You just cracked a little.”

Brooke smiled weakly. “I was just so sure I was okay, you know? I don’t know which is more foolish, the fact that I didn’t see Clay for what he was, or the fact that I didn’t think it would impact me.”

Seth turned his head slightly, kissing her fingers. “Just a little paper cut. This isn’t going to leave lasting scars.”

I’ll make sure of it.

“I don’t want to see him,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Maybe that’s still me avoiding, but I just . . . I don’t know what he can say other than sorry, and weird as this sounds, I don’t think
sorry
is what I need from him. I need for him to leave me alone.”

“Well, the good news is that he’s still a couple time zones over,” Seth said. “And from what you’re saying, I’m sure his plea bargain involves probation, plus hours of whatever testimony he must have agreed to hand over to the feds to avoid jail time.”

She rubbed tiredly at her forehead. “I suppose. The whole thing just makes me feel tired.”

The need to care for her was fierce. “Let me take you home. To my hotel,” he clarified.

Please say yes.

Brooke
dropped her hand back to her lap, giving him a small, tired smile. “I’d really like that.”

Seth smiled in victory before standing and holding out a hand to her.

The moment when her palm touched his felt like . . . everything.

Hours later, Brooke had taken a bubble bath, eaten a mountain of homemade macaroni and cheese, made by Seth himself, courtesy of Manhattan grocery delivery and some guidance from the Food Network, and consumed just enough wine to have dropped into sleep the second her head hit the pillow.

Seth smiled as he tugged the blankets up mostly over her head, knowing by now that she preferred to be nestled as deeply as possible under the covers.

He had every intention of going to clean up the kitchen before booting up his laptop and figuring out just how much he’d missed in his unexpected time off this afternoon.

Instead, he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his legs as he stared blankly at the closet door and took in the shock of the day.

Brooke’s con-man ex had managed to wiggle his way out of prison time.

Seth swore softly, his head falling forward.

For all his reassurances to Brooke that Clay would be held up on the West Coast, the truth was, Seth couldn’t count on any of that.

And even if Clay was stuck in California, the man
had access to the Internet and phones. Even if he couldn’t see Brooke, he could make contact.

A man who’d betrayed her trust in the most blatant, violating way possible could hurt her again with minimal effort.

Damn it. It wasn’t right.

Seth couldn’t stop Clay from calling her, or texting her. It’s not as though he could monitor Brooke’s phone, and even if he could, he wouldn’t.

He was controlling, not psycho.

Brooke made a sleepy sound, and Seth turned his head slightly, watching as she shifted under the covers, pulling more tightly into a ball.

Seth’s chest tightened. There was no way he could sit back and do nothing. No way he would let someone else he cared about be blindsided by fate.

For long minutes, Seth sat at her bedside, thinking.

Planning.

Seth couldn’t control Clay Battaglia’s actions.

However, he could
monitor
them.

The question was . . .
should
he?

Seth closed his eyes, wishing that he could call Grant. His friend would likely have some zero-bullshit advice. But other than curt exchanges about work, the two men hadn’t spoken since their argument a week earlier. Even if Grant picked up his call, Seth had a good idea what his friend would say.
Don’t do it, man.

Brooke stirred again, rolling closer to him. Her knees hit his hip, and her face emerged from under the covers, apparently wanting to see who was blocking her space.

She
gave him a sleepy smile. “Hi.”

He smiled back.

“You know watching women sleep fits into the creepy category, right?”

“I thought it was fair game as long as I didn’t have a camera.”

She giggled, a happy sound that was at odds with her ragged sobbing from earlier.

Those giggles were everything, and he knew then.

Knew that he would do anything to keep her from crying again.

He waited until her breathing had resumed the slow regularity of sleep before he quietly went back into the kitchen.

But instead of tackling the dishes, Seth unplugged his cell phone from his charger, taking it into the small den off the living room and closing the door behind him.

And made the call.

Tommy Franklin picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Tyler, how can I help you?”

“Franklin. How are you?” Seth forced himself to keep his voice steady and cool, as though this were a normal business arrangement. He didn’t bother with small talk.

“Fine. Although, if you’re checking on my progress, I already told you I’ll reach out when I have something concrete.”

“I’m calling about something else, actually.”

“Ah.”

Seth took a deep breath, gave himself a chance to back out. Then he remembered Brooke’s tears.

“I’m
wondering if you do business on the West Coast,” Seth said gruffly. “Or if you have any colleagues you recommend.”

“Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

Last chance to back out . . .

Seth rubbed his forehead, bowed his head. And pressed forward.

“I need you to check out someone for me. Have you heard of Clay Battaglia?”

I
N
HER SEVERAL YEARS
of experience, Brooke had learned that there were two types of wedding planners.

Those that you hired for their vision—the firecrackers who gave you their opinions, like it or not, but in the end were worth it, because their vision was probably better than yours anyway.

Then there were the wedding planners you hired to implement
your
vision—the ones who listened to what you wanted and found a way to make it work.

Brooke was the latter. She was a people pleaser, and nothing made her happier than when she could make a bride’s dream come true, securing that perfect venue or quaint little church, or even that moment when you could matchmake her with her ideal dress.

But that said, Brooke wasn’t above having private little celebrations when her vision and the bride’s vision aligned.

Such was the case in Maya Tyler’s wedding.

Even if Brooke and Seth weren’t doing . . . well,
whatever it was that they were doing, Maya and Neil’s wedding would go down in the books as one of Brooke’s favorites.